05-Dual Trigger Extra: Spettri
by Chronic Guardian
Summary: When you look at your reflection, sometimes you glimpse things you didn't want to see. M for homocidal circumstances involving the protagonist and a minor. [Twelve Shots of Summer: Trinity Limit]


**05-Dual Trigger Extra: Spettri**

By Chronic Guardian

 **Author's Note:** **Written for Twelve Shots of Summer: Trinity Limit [week 5: Love of Humanity/Jury Duty]**

Evening light was streaming in through the boarded up windows. There was a lull in the air as dust motes danced through the illuminating streams before disappearing back into the dark. A moment later, a man and five children, most of them teenagers, furtively slipped through the door. A few tense moments passed as a commotion in the street floated closer. Once it started drifting away, the room let out a collective sigh and muffled congratulations were exchanged on their continued survival.

The man in their midst interrupted the celebration to order a search of the area. His name was "Jecht." He was in his early forties, well worn by the world but still sharp from the training of his childhood. They'd been out all day and there was still a possibility someone had slipped in surveillance equipment while they were gone.

"You slipped up out there," he reminded the group sternly. "Don't slip up again here."

Once he was satisfied that no one had come in during their absence, they were dismissed. One boy started disassembling and cleaning their gear while their sniper, Fujin, got to making something for the group's dinner. Maqui, the second youngest, turned in early, but he asked Raijin to save him some of the meal. Raijin made a promise Jecht didn't believe.

The last child, the youngest of the squad, sat next to the window and stared out at the street. If it weren't for the automatic rifle casually resting against her shoulder, she would almost look normal. She wore tomboy street clothes that hadn't been washed in a week and combat boots with scuffs on the toes. Her sandy blonde hair was tied back tight in two braids that stuck stiffly off the back of her head. At rest, it was easier to believe she'd been a listless street urchin, but it was amazing what she could become when they needed it.

Slowly becoming aware of Jecht's gaze, she turned her head, almost mechanically, and stared back. "Sir?"  
Jecht grunted.

"...Great Jecht?"

"That's more like it," he allowed. She was supposedly conditioned to imprint on him, or so ol' Doc Marquis said, but he still found himself breaking-in her habits, even months into the operation. He'd decided she should call him "Great Jecht" mostly as a joke, but later it was more a point of authority. If he had to be the center of her world, he'd at least do it his way.

Her eyes drifted back to the street as her assigned duty overtook her curiosity. He watched the moment die, watched her sandy blonde hair ruffle slightly as a breeze filtered in, before getting up and moving further into the building.

Raijin was watching Fujin cook while he leaned back against the wall and talked about the day's events. Jecht gave him a cold smile and the boy trailed off.

"Sentry duty, go."

"But we just got back from a whole _day_ of sentry duty, y'know? 'Sides, Breska's got it—"

"Sentry duty," Jecht repeated, jerking a thumb back towards the entrance. "Now move your gherkin before I move it for you."

Raijin stole a longing glance back at the girl making dinner and her pan of stirfry with rice. Jecht treated him to a light slap upside the head and sent the boy on his way. It was unbelievable what these kids got away with. The fact they'd been chosen over any number of professionals in the business had Jecht wondering if it was some sort of publicity stunt on the administration's side. True, Seifer and Fujin were okay; they tried to pay attention. That didn't mean they were anywhere near the level Jecht would like them to be.

The best thing most of them had to offer the operation was that they were street savvy. Jecht's own training taught him how to blend well enough, but he hadn't been living in Florence for years like the gang of rookies. Of course, that also meant that if they ever moved they'd lose their inherent value and Jecht would be carrying the group again. It would be better to leave them and head out alone with Breska.

Jecht grabbed two bowls from the cupboard and came up alongside Fujin. She gave him a sidelong glance out of her good eye before returning her attention to the various vegetables in the pan. "Wait," she intoned firmly. Of all the kids in the cell, Fujin was probably the most serious and to the point. Jecht thought it was funny. She got an "A" for effort, but that didn't mean he was particularly impressed with her monosyllabic output.

Blue flames quietly licked the bottom of the pan as Fujin methodically shook it back and forth to keep the contents from charring. Jecht licked his lips and looked back towards the front room where Raijin and Breska were keeping watch. It would be dark soon. Raijin would fall asleep at his post, Seifer would hang a lamp to continue his work, and Breska would keep watching the darkened streets until he told her to stop.

Some people might think it was funny that the youngest of the group was the most disciplined. Jecht thought it was funny that people still could see her as an ordinary girl. True, they hadn't seen her forcefully detach a man's shoulder or continuously fire even after the target was down, but there was something different in the way she moved now. She was the best of the group, but she definitely wasn't human any more.

Jecht stirred as one of the bowls in his hands became heavier. In the dusky light, Fujin narrowed her good eye at him as she loaded his other bowl. He grunted his thanks and got back to his feet. The food wouldn't be great, but it would be edible. Jecht found himself wondering how difficult it would be to establish a supply line of MREs without raising suspicion.

His footsteps tapped around the edge of the room's silence. Predictably, he found Raijin curled up against the wall lightly napping while Breska sat exactly as he'd left her. Jecht dug his boot into Raijin's side and jerked his head back towards the makeshift kitchen. "Dismissed."

Raijin scrambled to his feet and gave a sorry excuse for a salute before eagerly heading off to dinner. The boy was kind of like an over grown parrot, Jecht mused. He knew how to vaguely imitate respect, but it didn't mean anything coming from him.

Left alone with the mechanical girl, he sighed and offered one of the bowls in her direction. "Hey," he called softly. She turned her head and looked at him with those opaque brown eyes. "Dinner time, kiddo."

She left her post and took the bowl from his hands with a measured "thank you," mostly because her conditioning wouldn't let her do anything less. Jecht stirred at the thought. In a way, she was also just an imitator. She was better at it than Raijin: She knew _what_ she was doing, she just didn't care why.

Sometimes Jecht wondered if he would've written her differently if he'd had control of the programs the Doc filled her head with. Would he try to make her act more human? He barked a short, humorless laugh. Justifying a lie would be sanitizing her for his sake. She wouldn't feel any better either way, right?

Breska stopped and gave him a tilted look.

"It's nothing," he assured her, going back at his bowl with feigned interest. "Eat it while it's warm."

When they were done, they both put their bowls aside and Jecht took up Raijin's former post. It reminded him of the old days. He could almost imagine his old friends manning the other stations as they vigilantly tended the deceptive calm of night. A cough welled its way up his chest and disturbed the memory. Annoyed, Jecht cleared his throat and went back to his watch.

His mind stayed with his old allies throughout the night. He even found himself singing one of Braska's old Yiddish folk songs. " _Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika_ ," he hummed, imagining his allies voices were joining him.

He paused when he realized someone actually was singing along.

" _Shteyt a bokher, un er trakht, trakht un trakht a gantse nakht_ " Breska sang quietly, tapping her fingers against her rifle's barrel in augment of the accented waltz. " _Vemen tzu nemen un nit farshemen, Vemen tzu nemen un nit farshe..._ " She trailed off as she realized he'd gone silent.

"..."

"...Great Jecht?"

"Where'd you learn those words?"

"I listen when you sing. You sing that song pretty often, you know."

Jecht gave an empty laugh. "You probably don't even know what you're saying." Her pronunciation was perfect, but as far as he knew she was still only fluent in Italian. Strangely, it was reassuring that she didn't understand the significance of the tune.

"Not really," she admitted. "Although, if you'd like to teach me—"

"Get back to watching," Jecht interrupted. "As long as we can finish this job, we can ditch these rookies and go back to bigger things. You got that? How many bullets in your clip, Breska?"

"Thirty-five, Great Jecht."

"Good." He nodded and went back to monitoring the street. He was getting distracted, she didn't need to know about the past. There was something sacred about that world. To let a cyborg into it felt wrong, somehow. "Don't get dragged down," he murmured, mostly to himself. Across the room, Breska agreed anyway. He settled himself with his cheek resting on a hand and set about scanning for movement.

The night stretched by slowly. Jecht realized he was closing his eyes at odd intervals and decided a cup of coffee might be in order until Seifer and Fujin came to relieve them. He turned to his partner out of habit to ask if she wanted some.

He blinked and squinted into the darkness when Breska's still form didn't appear at the opposite window.

"...Breska?"

A muffled shot answered him from the next room over.

Jecht's blood ran cold as he sunk into a combat stance and moved into the shadows. More shots, but nothing in his vicinity was impacted. They weren't aiming for him. How had they gotten in in the first place? Jecht rested his hand on the Desert Eagle at his hip and crept closer. He didn't hear a struggle, apparently the fight was over. Who had won?

Slow footsteps reached his ears and he shifted back. If the intruder wanted to come to come to him, that would be just fine. He drew his pistol and trained it on the doorway.

A moment later, a child's form entered, carrying a Negev machine gun in one hand, pointed at the ground. Twin braids protruded from the back of her head. Jecht exhaled and lowered his weapon. Breska looked at him and tilted her head. "Great Jecht?"

"Don't scare me like that," he hissed, holstering his pistol as he moved to join her. "You hurt?"

She shook her head and started to move for her post again.

"Hey!"

She stopped and patiently turned to him. "Yes, Great Jecht?"

"Report, soldier."

"Oh," she gave him an eerie smile. Slowly, he felt his eyes drifting towards the back room again. "We can leave now, Great Jecht. I took care of the loose ends."

Jecht lurched forward and breathed a curse as the smell of blood met the gun powder in the air. He redrew his pistol and trained it on Breska. "What the hell did you do?"

"You wanted to move on," she answered simply. "They were holding you back from what you really wanted, right?"

He clenched his teeth and took a step forward. "So you killed them?"

"You wanted me to."

The answer wasn't an accusation, it was a statement. Suddenly, Jecht realized Breska had been listening to more than just folksongs. She didn't care if he walled her out, she'd find a way in. She still watched him, and now she'd found something he wished she hadn't.

"Was I wrong?" she asked. The answer didn't seem to worry her. Was she confident he'd say no? She was staring straight down the barrel or his gun and smiling. "You know why we do these things. I'm like you, Great Jecht. We don't care about the stuff that gets in our way. They'd probably all die after we left them anyway. This was faster."

Jecht clenched his teeth. "I didn't..."

"No?" She tilted her head.

He swallowed hard; he knew the whole thing was wrong. He felt sick to his stomach and wanted to just shoot the damned little demon for what she'd done. Part of him knew if he did that though, the next bullet would be for himself.

"I'll make it easy then," she told him. The Negev dropped from her hand and clattered to the ground. "If we were wrong, you shoot me. You understand these things, Great Jecht. A jury of my peers, right?"

"...I made you do this." Jecht blinked as he tried to wrap his head around the idea. Stars were dancing in front of his eyes as black patches formed in his vision. He was feeling light headed.

Breska shrugged. "I'm just a cyborg. What else can I do?"

"Why were you watching me?" He snarled. "Breska, why the hell were you—"

"Because I want to be like you."

Involuntarily, his finger squeezed the trigger.

}§{

Jecht's eyes opened and the world seemed to rush back into darkness all at once. After a moment of catching his bearings, he realized he was watching the window again, cheek resting on hand. He forced his neck to turn, much to the prickly protest of muscles that had fallen asleep, and found Breska staring out the opposite window, rifle still resting on her shoulder. The night air was cool and thick. It was musky and smelled like last night's dinner, but not blood or gunpowder.

"Breska," Jecht croaked. He worked up some saliva to swallow and try again, but she was already turning her head at that point.

She fought down a yawn and blinked at him. "Great Jecht?" For the first time in their deployment, he noticed how ragged the girl looked. She still sat up straight and patiently waited at attention, but there was a human weariness there.

"...How many bullets in your clip?"

"Thirty-five, Great Jecht."

"Good."

"...Great Jecht?"

"Mmm?"

"You sound a lot more gentle singing."

He gave her a tired smile and turned back to the window. "You wanna learn the real words, kid?"

If only for a moment, her eyes shone and it was hard to believe she was anything but a little girl, hanging on his every word.

}§{

 _Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika_

 _Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika_

 _A young lad stands, and he thinks_

 _Thinks and thinks the whole night throughout_

 _Whom to take and not to shame_

 _Whom to take and not to shame_

 _Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika_

 _Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika_

 _Tumbalalaika, strum balalaika_

 _Tumbalalaika, may we be happy_

} _fin_ {

 **In-Universe Notes:**

 **-** Setting:-

 **Gunslinger Girl** : An anime/manga about adolescent girls remade into combat cyborgs by the Italian government via the Social Welfare Agency(SWA). The meat of the series covers the girls' plights as well as that of their Handlers, adult men assigned to the training and field supervision of the cyborgs. Together, these teams are known as fratelli(singular: fratello). In order to make the cyborgs combat worthy, as well as to prevent the organic bodies from rejecting the cybernetic components, the girls are given a drug known as "conditioning" that often affects their thought patterns and erases the memories of their previous lives.

 **Dual Trigger** : Dual Trigger is then taking the Gunslinger Girl setting and crossing it over with Final Fantasy characters. This particular installment gives a glimpse of a group outside the SWA who has somehow managed to create their own cyborg: Breska. While most of Dual Trigger is hidden in conceptual stages, this entry represents the new canon in which Jecht and Breska are not part of the SWA and instead are aligned with COSMOS.

-Persona:-

 **Jecht:** Originally from Final Fantasy X, Jecht's Dual Trigger iteration casts him as an Israeli expatriate working with COSMOS, an international organization currently combating the Omega group. Jecht has a rough exterior and often comes off as uncaring or even abusive to some standards. He holds high standards of performance and will often deride those who don't meet the mark. While performing his military service in Israel, Jecht served with two men, Auron and Braska, who he considered as close as family. While it may be hard to believe, Jecht feels very strongly about protecting those closest to him. Even though he struggles with expressing his affection, he's not quite as heartless as he may seem at first.

 **Breska:** Named for Jecht's old squadmate, Braska, Breska is the first non-SWA cyborg. In her previous life, she was an Eastern European immigrant girl named Penelo. She joined up with Seifer's gang before he was inducted into COSMOS and used to run errands for him. However, a dispute with a rival gang left her in critical condition. The fugitive doctor Cid, then working for COSMOS, converted her into a cyborg body on the condition that she be given a handler for future instances. She was partnered with Jecht, another recent entry into COSMOS, and has since been learning her trade as an operative from him. While Breska's cybernetic body allows her to meet the ex-Israeli's high expectations, she still has a long way to go in learning proper conduct. Still, Breska is patient. Although her relationship with Jecht may seem unstable and difficult at times, she is probably the next best partner he's had since Auron and Braska.

 **The Lost Children:** Also known as Seifer's gang, this cell of teenagers works for COSMOS keeping an ear to the ground in Florence. Their leader, Seifer (Final Fantasy VIII) is probably the most competent and (unsuccessfully) tries to take cues from Jecht's macho attitude to sculpt his own self-image of manliness. Fujin (Final Fantasy VIII) is the team's sniper and has the idiosyncratic twitch of speaking in single words, whenever possible. Raijin (Final Fantasy VIII) is Seifer's best friend. Although he's not always the most hard working or disciplined, he's good moral support for Seifer. He doesn't like how Jecht calls out his incompetencies. Finally, Maqui (From Final Fantasy XIII) is a young tech expert who has been tinkering with discarded computers and cell-phones since he was seven. Although he's not much of a field agent, and certainly something of a coward, he still offers a vital skill set to the cell in his own right.

 **-** **Additional Notes:-**

-Tumbalakaika (Lyrics copied from Wikipedia)

Shteyt a bokher, un er trakht ( _also_ shteyt un trakht)  
Trakht un trakht a gantse nakht  
Vemen tzu nemen un nit farshemen  
Vemen tzu nemen un nit farshemen

((chorus))  
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika  
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika  
Tumbalalaika, shpil balalaika  
Tumbalalaika ( _also_ Shpil balalaika), freylekh zol zayn

Meydl, meydl, kh'vil bay dir fregn,  
Vos ken vaksn, vaksn on regn?  
Vos ken brenen un nit oyfhern?  
Vos ken benken, veynen on trern?

((chorus))

Narisher bokher, vos darfstu fregn?  
A shteyn ken vaksn, vaksn on regn.  
Libe ken brenen un nit oyfhern.  
A harts ken benken, veynen on trern.

((chorus))

Vos iz hekher fun a hoyz?  
Vos iz flinker fun a moyz?  
Vos iz tifer fun a kval?  
Vos iz biter, biterer vi gal?

((chorus))

A koymen iz hekher fun a hoyz.  
A kats iz flinker fun a moyz.  
Di toyre iz tifer fun a kval.  
Der toyt iz biter, biterer vi gal.

((chorus))

[English Translation]

A young lad stands, and he thinks  
Thinks and thinks the whole night through  
Whom to take and not to shame  
Whom to take and not to shame

((chorus))  
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika  
Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalaika  
Tumbalalaika, strum balalaika  
Tumbalalaika, may we be happy

Girl, girl, I want to ask of you  
What can grow, grow without rain?  
What can burn and never end?  
What can yearn, cry without tears?

((chorus))

Foolish lad, why do you have to ask?  
A stone can grow, grow without rain  
Love can burn and never end  
A heart can yearn, cry without tears

((chorus))

What is higher than a house?  
What is swifter than a mouse?  
What is deeper than a well?  
What is bitter, more bitter than gall?

((chorus))

A chimney is higher than a house  
A cat is swifter than a mouse  
The Torah is deeper than a well  
Death is bitter, more bitter than gall

((chorus))


End file.
